Footnotes

[382:1] See Davenant, page [217].

He that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.—Ecclesiastes i. 18.

[382:2] The light of love.—Byron: Bride of Abydos, canto i. stanza 6.

[382:3] Unconquerable mind.—Wordsworth: To Toussaint L' Ouverture.

[382:4] See Cowley, page [262].

[383:1] See Cowley, page [261]. Milton, page [224].

[383:2] See Shakespeare, page [112]. Otway, page [280].

[383:3] See Dryden, page [277].

[384:1] The first edition reads,—

"The lowing herds wind slowly o'er the lea."

[384:2] See Sir Thomas Browne, page [217].

[385:1] See Young, page [311].

Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.—Churchill: Gotham, book ii. line 20.

[385:2] Usually quoted "even tenor of their way."

[385:3] See Chaucer, page [3].

[386:1] See Walton, page [208].

[387:1] This was intended to be introduced in the "Alliance of Education and Government."—Mason's edition of Gray, vol. iii. p. 114.

Corrupted freemen are the worst of slaves.

Prologue to the Gamesters.

Their cause I plead,—plead it in heart and mind;

A fellow-feeling makes one wondrous kind.[387:2]

Prologue on Quitting the Stage in 1776.

Prologues like compliments are loss of time;

'T is penning bows and making legs in rhyme.

Prologue to Crisp's Tragedy of Virginia.

Let others hail the rising sun:

I bow to that whose course is run.[387:3]

On the Death of Mr. Pelham.

This scholar, rake, Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet.

Jupiter and Mercury.

Hearts of oak are our ships,

Hearts of oak are our men.[388:1]

Hearts of Oak.

Here lies James Quinn. Deign, reader, to be taught,

Whate'er thy strength of body, force of thought,

In Nature's happiest mould however cast,

To this complexion thou must come at last.

Epitaph on Quinn. Murphy's Life of Garrick, Vol. ii. p. 38.

Are these the choice dishes the Doctor has sent us?

Is this the great poet whose works so content us?

This Goldsmith's fine feast, who has written fine books?

Heaven sends us good meat, but the Devil sends cooks?[388:2]

Epigram on Goldsmith's Retaliation. Vol. ii. p. 157.

Here lies Nolly Goldsmith, for shortness called Noll,

Who wrote like an angel, and talk'd like poor Poll.

Impromptu Epitaph on Goldsmith.